The Mad Scientist Megapack

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  With a sudden whim, Vance raised his hand and pressed in two draw-bars, then adjusted a third. He reached out and twisted the switch that operated the projector. The gleaming tube swung about to follow the boys. A movement of his foot, and the new sound-bolt struck the children. The laughter ceased. In its wake came a sound of soft sobbing.

  The essence of sadness was being instilled in their brains. Tears of sorrow took the place of the tears of joy of a moment before. Small shoulders shook with racking sobs.

  Finally, convinced of his success, Vance shut off the motors. A smile of derision touched his lips as he watched the boys awake. Shame-faced expressions came over their tear- and dirt-streaked countenances. Bewildered by something they could not understand, they shuffled off down the street in silence.

  Vance turned away. He regarded the instrument-filled laboratory with complete satisfaction. Another week and the plan would be ready. For he was not quite prepared for Dyson yet. A few changes in the study downstairs, and then the organ would be ready to play its song of Death, for an audience of one…

  CHAPTER IV

  The Melody of Death

  He was alone, in the laboratory, when the doorbell rang a week later. Vance’s whole body trembled with expectation. With an effort he controlled himself and hurried to let Dyson in.

  His father-in-law had got his telegram, he decided. That, in itself, had been a master stroke. A curt note to the elderly man saying he had found a number of letters and things belonging to Ellen, and that he would destroy them unless called for by Friday, had turned the trick.

  When he opened the door he was perfectly calm—outwardly, at least. He nodded curtly, “Come in. I see you got my wire.”

  Dyson’s face was dark with fury as he reached forward and seized the scientist by the throat. “I got it, Vance,” he breathed, “and I’ve come here to take those letters and then give you a beating you’ll never get over. I knew you were worthless, but…”

  “I’m warning you,” Vance cut in huskily, striving to control his quivering underlip, “that unless you release me right now you’ll never see the letters. Nor the picture she had taken just before she left me!”

  The elderly militarist looked at the younger man as though he would crush him right then. His eyes pinched dangerously. Then he let his hand drop. The club was held by the weakling in this battle. “All right,” he bit out. “Give them to me. Then get out and keep out of my sight, if you value your life.”

  Vance’s heart leaped. The old fool was playing right into his hands! He turned away quickly to hide the triumph in his eyes. “Wait in the study,” he growled. “I’ll be right down with them.”

  But scarcely had the door closed behind Dyson as he went into the small, walnut-paneled room than he sprang into action. He rushed down the hall to the room where the organ had been reinstalled. He closed the door behind him softly and hurried to the switchboard across from him. His hand swung a bar-like switch down and there was a loud snap from somewhere in the wall.

  Vance’s lips were half parted in a smile. The man in the study was there for good. The turning of the switch had thrown bolts into every door, locking him securely. Now he drove a huge knife-switch home. A loud humming of electric motors filled the room. For a second, nothing happened.

  In the next moment the wall between the study and the anteroom commenced to slide down through the floor. Between the two sections of paneling a thick glass shield remained. After a moment Dyson’s startled figure was seen standing in the middle of the other room staring transfixedly at the vanishing wall. He jerked around as a sound grated behind him.

  Vance had operated another motor that exposed the huge second cannon behind the organ. The long, silver snout of it moved forward toward the glass panel, turned toward Dyson slowly.

  Quickly Vance dashed to the organ and seated himself. He could see Dyson’s mouth shouting at him through the glass wall, but the words were inaudible because of mineral-wool insulation in the walls. His long, tapering fingers touched the controls.

  After a moment he commenced playing. Dyson stopped his shouting and gesticulating. He looked startled as the sounds came from the projector. The scientist’s playing grew faster. He burst into a lively number of his own composition, full of breathless runs and cadences. The militarist could be seen to stiffen and throw his shoulders back. His fine face glowed with alertness and well-being. Suddenly he did an about-face.

  “Now, march, damn you!” Vance shouted. “March, like the would-be soldier you are!” His fingers flashed over the keys in a stirring march overtoned by strange chords.

  Dyson’s figure was a pathetic sight as he marched back and forth down the room, the great sound cannon always following him like a vigilant eye. He looked like some old man playing soldier like a six-year-old boy. His erect, white head, thrown back, bobbed rhythmically. Up and down, back and forth, he led his imaginary battalions, shouting orders, executing weird maneuvers.

  Vance laughed until the tears streamed down his face. Tired of it at last, he switched to a humorous composition. On the upper manual he set the keys needed to produce the tones that would irritate the nerve centers of Dyson’s brain. Then, to the rollicking tune that swelled from the organ, the elder man commenced to laugh. He screamed with merriment. He slapped his knee and doubled over as the breath was goaded from his lungs like a depressed bellows. Finally he fell on the floor and lay there writhing in agony, but still shouting insane laughter.

  But Vance did not let him die of strangulation, which would have occurred in a few more moments. He burst into a new piece. The room commenced to vibrate slightly from the power of the sound-waves driving out of the mouth of the cannon. Even the organ bench shook a little as the floor was agitated.

  Dyson felt the tones immediately. Anger distorted his face and pulled his mouth wide open into a savage snarl. Louder and louder the music grew, while he grew more and more insane with fury and raced back and forth, pounding the wall that separated him from his murderer, not knowing why he did it. All reason was blasted from his mind by the bolt of solid sound that pounded at him from the projector which followed him everywhere.

  Vance’s foot commenced to tilt the power pedal still further. The whole house was trembling now from the deep tones. They were inaudible, and yet the whole body seemed to hear them. Dyson’s knees buckled and he went down on hands and knees, still raging, but growing weaker. His body shook as with ague.

  Vance’s fingers flashed over the keys in a wild song that filled the house with mad echoes, shaking the windows and rattling the doors. He threw his head back and laughed in defiance of Dyson’s attempts to break through and kill him. All the joy of triumphing over this man who had challenged him was in his eyes, and all the greed in his soul was in his saliva-gleaming lips. He looked down to the manual for a moment, then glanced back to see what effect the change of chords he had just made would produce.

  Suddenly a curse came from his lips. Dyson had staggered out of the sound beam and was showing signs of recovery. With a savage snarl Vance reached for the direction control and swung it hard over. At the same time his foot shoved the volume control farther open.

  “My God!” A start of horror racked him. The sound cannon had not moved. The vibrations must have torn the wires loose that controlled that part of its mechanism! Desperately he shoved the volume pedal wide open. The house shook violently. Abruptly, there was a shrill screech of collapsing metal.

  Too late Vance saw what he had done. The tremendous force of the sound waves had cracked the sound cannon. Before he could move to turn off the power a change came over him. It seemed as though a hot ice pick was being driven through his brain. He felt a stiffness coming over his limbs and he tried to move far enough to reach the switches, but he was powerless. Even in his ghastly predicament he was able to figure out what had happened. The beam of the music was touching and freezing his own brain. Unless
he could stop it instantly he was lost!

  With a final attempt to save himself, he crashed his hands, fingers splayed, down upon the keys. There was a roar of sound from the cannon. An almost visible beam of power shot from it straight into the man at the organ.

  The organ itself leaped from the floor six inches and vibrated. Suddenly the music stopped. The death instrument had been destroyed. But Vance did not move from the bench.

  He just sat there for a long moment, and then his body seemed to coil up almost like a piece of spaghetti. He slid from the bench and lay sprawled on the floor. His face was white and ghastly. There was something in his blank look that seemed to indicate that his brain was completely destroyed. And there was something in the limp look of his arms and legs that seemed to show that he had not a whole bone in his body.

  STATUS: COMPLETE, by Leslie J. Furlong

  To: Senior Manager Ozaki , Project Manager Inoue

  CC: Officer Oe

  From: Team Manager Ono

  Re: Final report (MG-709X status)

  First, I would like to say how much I have enjoyed the past 17 years as part of the Toritomo Recovery Industries’ corporate family. I have always appreciated working on the latest (forgive the pun) cutting edge technologies. I realize that the marketplace is continuing to go through changes, and that companies must change with them in order to survive. These kinds of personnel decisions must not come easily for someone in your position, especially as decisions of any kind have never been your forte.

  On to business.

  My final report deals with the current status of the MG-709X-WHRU (wiring harness recovery unit). If you pay attention to diagram 1 (see attachment A), you will notice some of the improvements I have made to the MG-709X since our last meeting. As this is to be my last design project, I wanted it to be, if not the cutting edge (those words again) technology you’ve constantly demanded, at least a project with a lasting effect.

  As preservation of the environment has become an increasing concern of different automotive companies, methods of separating the component parts (metal chassis, fabrics, rubber, etc.) that go into an automobile are becoming necessary. The MG-series of WHRUs provided an all-in-one solution, able to cut through a vehicle’s chassis, extract wiring harness and cables, and then strip away the insulation and other plastics with minimal training required for its operators.

  However, those earlier versions of the MG-709X (the MG-707A, etc.) were plagued with design flaws, dating back to its first incarnation (which I am sure you are aware of, being a member of the original design team). These included (but weren’t limited to) overheating, uneven pull force, the rapid dulling of cutting blades, and the stability of the vehicle undergoing processing. I believe my new design overcomes these issues while ably addressing others.

  This new design, while still large enough to accept a full-size automobile, has a footprint only 85% of the original, thanks to the strength of denser alloys utilized (see attached patent licensing agreement 1). A value add of these alloys is sound buffering, which makes for a less noisy work area (graph 1a).

  New clamps and braces hold the vehicle (or other object) firmly in place within the MG-709X’s processing bay, allowing the blades (utilizing the same alloys) to cut through the chassis and paneling in less time without damaging internal components because of vibration, etc.

  The extraction hooks are basically unchanged, however the armatures and the software that controlled them has been, much like my future, rewritten. They are now more sensitive to resistance and can automatically adjust to reduce stress on weaker points, another quality you should try to develop in yourself.

  The inspection and testing stage for the new MG-709X was extensive, and was completed only this afternoon after the rest of the staff had left for the evening, and the results are impressive. Tests confirming the durability of the redesigned MG-709X were conducted with the kind contributions of Mrs. Ozaki (see image sequence 3A-3I for details). As you can tell from the photos in the sequence, the MG-709X’s ability to extract even the most delicate components has been greatly improved. The braces hold the subject in place securely, while the cutting blades that allow the hooks access to an object’s interior work just as well on soft, pliable material as on metal and hard plastics. And as I mentioned before, the soundproofing properties of the alloys were most effective, reducing any disturbing noises to such tolerable levels that ear protectors were not required.

  Still, stripping items (such as, but obviously not limited to) cables and wires of their insulation remains messy and a point to be improved upon (see 3G-3I), but I must leave that challenge to the remaining members of the design team.

  I have recorded every moment of these trials so that you might better understand. I thought it was important to be clearly understood. Copies should arrive in your inbox via inter-office mail tomorrow afternoon. I hope it will answer your remaining questions. Please pass on any comments you may have to my successor, as I am certain to be no longer available once I have completed my remaining tests.

  Thank you again for this opportunity.

  Regards,

  Yoshiyaki Ono,

  MG-709X Redesign project team leader

  FOOD FOR THOUGHT, by Jack Dolphin

  Findings of The Trial Board of the New York City Police Department in the matter of: Detective Sergeant Michael Francis Xavier Conover

  A Preliminary Report

  Date: July 23, 1924

  On this date the Trial Board met for the final of three sessions in the case of Det. Sgt. Michael F. X. Conover, who was brought up on interdepartmental charges stemming from his behavior during the July 15th investigation into the disappearance of the members of the Pelgimbly Oceanographic Expedition.

  The investigation was initiated following the discovery of the expedition’s abandoned vessel, “The Ark of Capella”, floating near the mouth of New York Harbor on July 14th of this year. In view of the current crisis, it was the intention of this Board to streamline these proceedings as much as possible and, with an eye towards following that mandate, it will not repeat internal discussions regarding the events of 15th July, opting instead to present excerpts of pertinent testimony taken directly from the Trial Board transcripts, then rendering our verdict.

  * * * *

  The first witness to be called was Captain Alfred Knox, the Assistant Harbormaster for the Port Of New York. The relevant sections of his testimony are as follows:

  TRIAL BOARD: Once the ship had been towed in, you called the police. Why?

  CAPTAIN KNOX: Well, first we went aboard to see what we could find. There was no one aboard, of course, but we saw considerable evidence of violence, bloodstained walls in the companionways, extreme damage to the woodwork in several of the cabins, smashed instrumentation on the bridge and so forth. The Port has limited resources for investigative work and the Coast Guard are stretched rather thin at present, what with the ongoing battle against the rumrunners, so we alerted the patrolman in the area of our dock and had him come aboard for a looksee. It took only a few minutes to convince him of the seriousness of the situation and he sent round to the stationhouse for the detectives.

  TB: That would be Detective Sgt. Conover and Detective Samuel Hawks?

  CK: Yes, that’s right. I met them as they came aboard. The Sergeant sent Detective Hawks aft to look around and I accompanied the Sergeant to the bridge. After a brief inspection of the bridge, we proceeded down to C deck, where we examined the crew’s quarters. Then we worked our way up to the quarters belonging to the members of the expedition. That’s where Detective Hawks rejoined us.

  The next witness to be called was Detective Samuel Hawks, partner of Det. Sgt. Conover in the Homicide Squad, headquartered at the Manhattan South precinct. The relevant sections of his testimony are as follows:

  TB:
Detective, how long have you been partnered with Det. Sgt. Conover?

  DETECTIVE SAMUEL HAWKS: Six months, sir.

  TB: In the course of your association have you ever observed the Sergeant exhibiting any extreme, irrational or violent behavior?

  DSH: No, sir, the Sergeant is a very calm and collected individual. In point of fact, his nickname in the precinct is the Traffic Warden because he’s always cautioning others to slow down and think before they act.

  TB: So you would characterize the Sergeant as a cautious individual?

  DSH: Yes, sir, but not to the extreme that he is incapable of acting when necessary. He’s a decisive man and once he’s sure of something, he has no hesitation in following through on whatever course of action he deems best suited.

  TB: It says in your file that you and the Sergeant were recently involved in another incident that ended in gunplay. Could you elaborate on that for us?

  DSH: We were investigating the murder of a prominent gangland figure, one Seamus Peasley, part of the Hell’s Kitchen mob that runs the beer in Manhattan. As you’re no doubt aware, the statistics on solving these gangland killings are pretty dismal, mostly because no one will talk to us. The insiders won’t rat and the witnesses are too scared, but in this particular case, we caught a break. Peasley’s girl, a chorus doll named Nora Fitzgerald, was with Peasley when he was shot. She caught a bullet in the cheek and was anxious for revenge, since the scar ruined her Broadway career.

  She was willing to testify, so on her identification, we went to pick up Luigi Ceracini, a gunman with the Ganolese gang. Unfortunately, Ceracini and his boys saw us coming. They opened fire on us as we were getting out of our car. We had a couple of patrolmen with us as backup. One of them was wounded and it turned into a running gun battle through the streets of Little Italy. Detective Sergeant Conover shot and killed Ceracini in the battle and, I might add, saved my life when one of the gang had snuck around behind me. He’d have had me sure, but Mike… I mean, the Sergeant saw him and put one in his shoulder.